


Monsters Chasing Dreams

by xensilverquill



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fight Club - Freeform, Fluff, GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY, Gay, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious, PTSD, Slow Burn, body painting, rarepair hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-26 23:32:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18727093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xensilverquill/pseuds/xensilverquill
Summary: "I'm startin' to think you're goin' soft, Mustache. I didn't even feel that last pun--" He reeled as Scourge caught him square in the chest with a quick. "Oof, there we go!""If only you were as quick to move as you are to quip," the blue mech countered, wings snapping up to block the Monsterbot's punches. "You might win a few more matches.""Aw, but then who else'd let you win as often as I do?" Grotusque took advantage of the moment to swiftly step behind Scourge. He wrapped his arms around his partner's sides, effectively pinning both his wings and arms."After all, someone's gotta keep that ego of yours from gettin' too dented," he rumbled cheekily."It is not the only thing about to get dented." After which he promptly snapped his helm back and hit Grotesque full under the chin.---Art-trade/gift with ferrum-negative.





	Monsters Chasing Dreams

 

"First off, thanks to everyone for coming out tonight for the first meeting of the Lost Light 'Fight Club' workshop," Rodimus (from his precarious perch on Megatron's shoulders) addressed everyone gathered in the training room. "So we've got just a couple housekeeping rules. First rule of Fight Club: you don't talk about Fight Club..."

Deadly silence followed with a narrowed gaze from the flame-colored mech as he met the gaze of each crew member. Megatron sighed and rolled his optics up at him.

"Really, Rodimus?" he rumbled.

"... N'aw, I'm just jerking your tailpipes!" The younger mech's facade broke with a snort and grin. "But no, for real: keep it clean, keep it fun. Servo-to-servo only, no weapons or altmodes. Last thing I need is the medbay staff on my case for sending them a pile of beaten and bleeding mechs every decacycle. Tonight we'll start with assigning sparring partners. My co-captain and I'll be paired up at your mentors. Magnus -- do us a favor and read off the list?"

"All right, starting us off in alphabetic order," the second-in-command announced as he pulled out a datapad with the list. "Blades, you will be with Powerglide. Cyclonus you will be with Whirl--"

Scourge's audials tuned out a little as the list went on. Given the size of the Lost Light's crew and considerable crowd that had come out, it was a somewhat long one.

It had been Tailgate's suggestion that the entire trine sign up for the workshop. After all they could use the social exercise and liked to spar with one another on a regular basis anyway and wouldn't they please try a few sessions for him? And, of course, there was no denying the minibot anything when he pleaded with them like that. (Though Scourge did not think it especially honorable for Tailgate to be using his powers of persuasion in such a manner, the clever little turbofox.)

His gaze passed idly over the others. Aside from his trine, he was not particularly close to any of the mechs or femmes present tonight. Which was not to say he disliked them, only that he was little more than acquaintances with most them and would have rather been spending the evening either by himself or in the more intimate company of his trine. Who would his partner be then, he wondered?

"--and lastly: Scourge, you are with Grotusque."

... Well. That answered his question, he supposed.

"Thank you, Magnus!" Rodimus called, clapping his servos to get their attention again. "Now everyone pair up. Don't be shy now!"

"Hey, Mustache!"

Scourge's optics reset a time or two as a pink-and-off-white frame filled his optics. He had to crane his neck somewhat to stare at the mech; he was a good helm or taller than himself. An eager and ever-so-slightly feral grin met him, and Grotusque slapped both his servos on Scourge's shoulders.

"Looks like it's just you and me, huh?" the Monsterbot rumbled. "How long's it been since we had a chance to tangle like this? Not since Kimia!"

"... Indeed," he replied quietly.

"Aw, c'mon, you look like I just stole your turbo-puppy!" He stepped back and arched an optic ridge at Scourge, fists on his hips. "No hard feelings, I'm just messin' with you. You ready to rumble?"

"Well... yes?? I would not be here if I do not wish to-- Ah!"

"Good mech!" Grotusque laughed as he tackled his partner to the ground with a loud _clang!_ "But keep your guard up next time!"

* * *

 

"Roller, will y'keep sti-- Dammit, Roller, how's a bot s'posed to make y'look pretty when y'keep wigglin'?"

"Hey, you callin' me ugly?" the black mech grumbled, though he looked decidedly more pouty than truly angry from where he lay on the ground.

"Well you ain't winnin' any Praxian beauty contests if you keep screwin' my paints up," Grotusque quipped back.

Paint pots and empty cubes lay scattered around him, and it was beginning to look as if a rainbow had been violently murdered on the floor. He had one optic closed and his glossa sticking out slightly as he continued painting a daisy on Roller's chest plating. Or was it an iris? Or, on second thought, a daisy chain.

"Hey, guys, I'm an enthusiastic supporter of the arts and all," Swerve remarked as he walked by carrying a tray of engex, "but do you think there might be a better place to do this than my bar? In the middle of the floor? During the dinner rush??"

"Mmmmm, no, none coming to mind," the Monsterbot hummed as he snatched a cube off the tray and took a sip. "Sweet of ya t'think of us, though. Hey, send us 'nother half dozen those Fuzzy Bolts when y'get a chance? 'kay thanks, sweetspark, bye-bye now."

Scourge observed the drunken tableau from the booth he was sharing with the others. He sipped at a cube while Tailgate was talking animatedly with Whirl and Cyclonus, something about plans for their next shore leave.

The old warrior found his attention drifting now and then back to the art installation in-progress. A floral pattern, or at least a brave attempt at one, of white blooms and curling vines. Clearly the artist had no shortage of inspiration, but his canvas was being less than cooperative. That and his linework left much to be desired...

Mumbling a promise to the others to be back in a moment, he made his way to the pair almost before he was conscious of the act. Without a word he grabbed one of the pale yellow paints, dipping his claws in and running around the edge of one white bloom.

"Hey hey hey!" Grotusqe leaned over and attempted to shove the mech away. "This look like a group activity t'you? Go find you're own mech t'paint!"

"If you will use yellow to outline the blooms instead of black," Scourge said, ignoring his protests and deftly avoiding his flailing servos, "the contrast will be much less harsh."

"Who asked--" The larger mech leaned forward to inspect the work, chin in servo and optics squinting. "Huh. Actually, that ain't half bad. Y'know, I didn't take you for a painter."

"Surely you did not think my only hobbies were staring distantly out into space and brooding? I leave such things to Cyclonus."

"... Right, 'course not." Silence fell between the two of them for several moments. (Roller, for his part, had fallen into a deep high-grade-induced recharge).

"If you were not opposed to the idea, I would not mind collaborating with you on something in the future," Scourge offered quietly, gaze fixed firmly on an iris bloom (or was that a daisy?) as he outlined it. "You have an enviable optic for color."

"Interestin' proposal. And thanks" Grotusque had gone back to touching up a flower on Roller's abdominal plating. "Lemme think about it f'r a bit?"

"Of course," he replied with a shrug, recognizing a polite deflection and refusal when he heard one.

* * *

 

Or so he thought.

"So when're we meetin' up for our little art class?" the Monsterbot questioned casually, catching his opponent's fist in one servo.

"I beg your pardon?" He grabbed Grotusque's arm, twisting and kneeling to vault him bodily over his shoulder. "Rah!"

"Oh-ho, someone's got a strong grip!" The larger mech's pede swept out to take a shot behind Scourge's knee. "And I'm talkin' about your offer the other night. Now granted I might've been a one or ten drinks to the wind at the time, but I'm pretty sure you said you'd get with me. On a paintin' project, I mean."

"Yes, I suppose I did say that," he grunted as he rolled away to avoid the blow.

"Unless you changed your mind." A punch aimed for Scourge's face. "Of course, I understand if you wanna to keep this hot affair of ours on a strictly professional sparrin' lev-- Oof!"

Narrowing his optics, Scourge sidestepped and took the blow on the shoulder. Then, quick as a spark pulse, he tackled the Monsterbot in the chest plating. They both went sailing, Scourge landing on top of him with a heavy thud.

"Understand this now, Grotusque," he rumbled archly, claws digging into his shoulder, "I make neither idle promises nor threats. Come to my habsuite after your shift tomorrow night. If you dare, that is."

"Great!" Grotusque buffeted at the blue mech's faceplate with a wing, loosening his grip and flinging his partner off him bodily. Scourge grunted in surprise as he landed on his own back-- No, wait, that was Rodimus. "It's a date, Mustache!"

"Rule--" Rodimus wheezed under Scourge as he attempted to cycle his vents again. "Rule number two: no throwing your partner!!"

* * *

 

"Loosen your grip on the brush a bit." In one servo he held the brush steady while he placed the other over Grotusque's own. Claws deftly pushed blunt digits into a less strained position. "Your strokes will look less strained, and it will lessen the wear on your wrist hydraulics."

"Well dunk me in gold and call me Primus," Grotusque chuckled, "you're right. I'm startin' to think you missed your real callin' in life."

That managed to elicit an amused chuff from Scourge. He dipped his claws in the white paint and went back to detailing one of the caps on the tidal waves. Grotusque meanwhile was making an attempt at a craggy shoreline. The two of them had found inspiration from one of the ocean planets during the ship's stay in the Kepler system a few decacycles ago.

"Damn, this a lot harder to do sober," Grotusque rumbled after a while, setting the brush down. "How'd that Bob Ross guy from Swerve's vids do it? 'Build a happy little tree...' The frag does that even mean?"

"I do not know what a 'bob-ross' or a 'tree' is--" Scourge lightly tapped a paint-stained claws on Grotusque's nasal ridge. "--but as with any skill, doubtless it came with great dedication and practice. "

"Well aren't we all wise and sage-y?" he snorted, wiping his faceplate against the back of his servo. "And hey, keep it on the canvas!"

A smile quirked at the edge of lips. "Indeed."

"... Hey, guys, is this gonna take much longer?" Riptide glanced over his shoulder, attempting to steal a glance at the scene they were paint on his back plating "My joints are starting to feel a little stiff."

"Hush-hush-hush-hush!" Grotusque scolded him, covering the boat's mouth with a servo. "We talked about this, 'Tide. What'd we say was the number one rule of being a canvas?"

"Uuuuuh... no talking or moving?" came the muffled reply.

"That's right! Now shut up and sit still. I'll buy you a cube later. Mustache, pass me the burnt sienna?"

* * *

 

"So, Scourgey, how's the art gallery business venture going with 'Tusque? The little mural you two did on Riptide was quite the hit the other night." Whirl rested his chin on a claw at his sipped at his drink through a curly straw. "And when are you bringing the mech over for dinner? Least you can do is introduce us to your boyfr--"

"Kindly refrain from teasing our trinemate," Cyclonus sighed, tweaking one of the flanges on the helo's helm.

"I have absolutely no idea what the two of you are rambling on about," their third remarked, "but go about your own business, I suppose."

A crash on the other end of the bar had them all turning their helms. Scourge's plating flared and tensed before he lowered the sensitivity on his audials and cycled his vents for a few moments. He raised an optic ridge at the scene as he tried to make sense of it.

At some point the high grade must have gotten to a few mechs' processors -- Grotesque among them -- and they all had the same brilliant idea to start an impromptu meeting of the Fight Club right in the middle of the bar. Tables and cubes and minibots were sent flying as a few pairs tangled with one another. Grotesque, having shifted into his chimerical, otter-like altmode in the commotion, seemed to be having a grand old time. Though the same could perhaps not be said for the mech whose helm he was currently chewing on.

"On second thought, scratch the dinner plans. He looks like a messy eater, and I don't have any spare parts to feed him anyway." Whirl chuckled as he got up from the table and flung himself headlong into the chaos. "BAR FIGHT!!"

When Magnus and Rodimus were called in to break up the melee, Scourge hid his smile in his cube as he took another sip.

* * *

 

He stared blankly at the small box presented to him, then up at Grotusque, and then back at the box again.

"Well, are you gonna stand there like a training drone all day? Take it."

"This is... for me?"

"No, I thought I'd give it to Megatron -- _yes_ it's for you!" The Monsterbot pressed it insistently into Scourge's servos. "Now open it. Preferably before we both rust over from old age."

The Lost Light had stopped for a decacyle at some tourist planet or other in the Orion Belt. The name of the system escaped the blue mech, though he supposed it did not particularly matter as he had no intention of going himself. Cylconus, Whirl, Tailgate, and most of the crew had gone down for the day. Scourge stayed behind with a few others of his own accord to watch the ship. Fond as he was of them, he was not a party mech by nature and had no interest in spending even a few kliks among complete and total (not to mention loud) strangers.

He had not expected any of them, much less Grotusque, to return for days. Yet here they both stood outside his habsuite, the box thrust towards him. Carefully he took the proffered item -- could he rightfully call it a gift? -- and lifted the lid.

"This is..." Scourge's optics reset a time or two as he tilted his helm to side.

"Some new pigments and brushes. For the next time we get to paintin'." The Monsterbot absentmindedly scratched the back of his helm. "Me and some of the guys were bar crawlin' the other night. Saw these in a shop window and I remembered you mentionin' you were out of some colors when we were workin' on Riptide.

"So, uh..." The mech grew uncharacteristically quiet, wings twitching with a nervous energy Scourge did not think he had ever seen in him before. He gestured vaguely at the box. "There you go. Hope it's what you were lookin' for."

"Yes... Yes, I think these will do very nicely," Scourge rumbled, a smile quirking beneath his beard. He laid a servo on the taller mech's shoulder. "Thank you, Grotusque. Same time next decacycle then?"

"Heh, don't mention it," the Monsterbot chuckled. That Mortilus-may-care smirk was back on his faceplate in an instant as he turned on his pede to leave. "And yeah, same time. I'm thinking a cityscape for this round. Like... Simanzi. Y'know, before the Decepticons got there. Toodles."

It was only when the Monsterbot was alone in his own habsuite that his bravado fell and buried his faceplate in his palm. The memory file played on loop in his processer. Scourge's surprise, his smile. Those orange optics lighting up. Those pretty wings of his perking up like they always did when he was genuinely happy about something.

Grotesque huffed quietly. Primus, did he have it bad.

* * *

 

"Oh, Tailgate, hand me that plasma wrench? And Scourge, be a dear and move a little bit to the leeeeft-- yes, right there!"

"Remind me again what you're building?" the minibot asked, handing the wrench to Scourge, who in turn handed it to Brainstorm. The scientist in question was currently sitting on the blue mech's shoulders, sparks raining down as he worked over some complex bit of circuitry.

"No idea," Brainstorm admitted with a shrug. "According to the security cameras, I started this is my recharge cycle last night. But I _think_ it might be a matter transporter? That, or a really big dirty bomb. Should probably run that by security..."

Scourge for his part made no comment; he was simply happy to be of help. He and Tailgate had been assigned to assist in the lab this shift. The minibot was running to and fro to grab supplies for Brainstorm while Scourge provided support (though perhaps it was more accurately a boost in this case).

He felt a tap at his hip plating and glanced down. Speaking of the minibot...

"Yes, little one?"

"Sooo..." He leaned against Scourge's legs, servos behind his back. "How's your sparring nights been going?"

"Hm, fairly well."

"Been having fun? Sounds like it, to hear the others talk."

"It is an agreeable way to pass an evening, yes." He gently patted the top of the Tailgate's helm with the flat of his claws. "Thank you for suggesting in the first place."

"You're welcome!" A klik or two of silence. "Been hanging out with any... _friends_ there?"

"Yes. Several, if you include Whirl and Cyclonus."

"No, I mean-- Have you made any _new_ ones? Maybe some friends of the painting-and-punchy variety??"

"... Grotusque?"

"Yeah! You two've really been hitting it off lately, huh? Cyclonus said on the last shore-leave he got you pigments and brushes and everything."

"Yes, it was quite kind of him."

"Oh, sounds like some mech is crushing on you~"

"No, if I recall correctly, it was Rewind he accidentally crushed at the bar the other night."

"That's not what I-- What I'm saying is I think he likes you!"

"I should hope so. It would dampen the mood during our sparring sessions if he had an active distaste for me."

"No, as in he _likes_ likes you!"

"... Forgive me, but I do not follow."

"Oh for love of--" Tailgate slapped his faceplate. "Scourge, listen closely: I. Think. Grotusque. Wants. To. Be. Your--"

"Hey, guys?" Brainstorm tapped the top of Scourge's helm. "Much as I love keeping up to date on the latest ship gossip, I'm gonna need you to grab the fire extinguisher pronto. And clear the room, and maybe this whole deck while you're at it? Now. Oh, and comm Percy! Tell him to bring the warp stabilizer!"

* * *

 

"I'm startin' to think you're goin' soft, Mustache. I didn't even feel that last pun--" He reeled as Scourge caught him square in the chest with a quick. "Oof, there we go!"

"If only you were as quick to move as you are to quip," the blue mech countered, wings snapping up to block the Monsterbot's punches. "You might win a few more matches."

"Aw, but then who else'd _let_ you win as often as I do?"

Grotusque took advantage of the moment to swiftly step behind Scourge. He wrapped his arms around his partner's sides, effectively pinning both his wings and arms.

"After all, someone's gotta keep that ego of yours from gettin' too dented," he rumbled cheekily.

"It is not the only thing about to get dented." After which he promptly snapped his helm back and hit Grotesque full under the chin.

Unbeknowst to the pair, that night's session had concluded twenty kliks ago. They had also failed to notice the sizeable audience leaned against the far wall.

"Think we should tell them?" Rodimus remarked, chin in hand.

"That class is over or they've both go it worse than a pair of twitterpated newsparks?" Whirl clicked his pincers together. "Because me and Tee tried both already."

"Scourge and Grotusque will come to terms with what is between them in their own time," Cyclonus rumbled, shooting the rest of them a warning glare. "It is not our place to interfere."

"Cyclonus, I love you," Tailgate corrected gently as he took his conjunx's servo and patted it, "but how do you think _we_ got together? Hey, don't give me that look you know I'm right!"

"Anyways, I've got 500 credits riding on the Monsterbot confessing first," Whirl cut in. "I love Scourgey, but he's not exactly the kinda mech to make the first move."

"Clearly you didn't see the old vids of him at Kimia." Rodimus jerked a thumb toward the tussling pair. "700 credits says the old mech surprises us all."

"Don't you think this is all a little tactless, you two? This isn't a turbo-hound race."

"Yeah, remind us what you've got in the betting pool, Megs?"

"2000 on Grotusqe, obviously. I suspect the heat death of the universe would occur before Scourge even acknowledged his feelings."

* * *

 

"Mustache?" He knocked on the door to mech's habsuite again. "Mustache, you in there?"

No answer.

"If tonight's not good, we can always do it some other time? I know we tussled kinda hard at Fight Club the other night and you might need a bit of time to rest, haha..."

Still no answer.

"Look, Mustache." His optics darkened a shade. "I don't make a habit of poking my olfacters into another mech's business, but color me kinda concerned. You're not the type to cancel without any notice. Or to give a mech the silent treatment without even tellin' him what he did to fry your circuits so bad."

Surprise, surprise, silence met him again.

"Mustache-- _Scourge_ , say somethin' -- anythin' -- please."

_CRASH!_

"Scourge?!"

Before he properly registered what he was doing, the Monsterbot was ramming his shoulder against the door. Once, twice, and the metal crumpled enough to allow him to pry it the rest of the way open. He dashed into the darkened room. His optics darted frantically. No sign of the mech, but-- there in the washrack!

He rounded the corner -- and what he saw made his spark tremor in its casing.

Scourge lay shaking in a pile of energon-tinged solvent. Half his frame lay in and out of the washrack cabin, the solvent stream pinging against his helm. Shards of transparisteel lay from where he had apparently crashed through the door. His wings were curled tight himself, and his servos were clamped tight to see his audials.

"... Scourge." Grotusque reached out to gingerly touch the edge of one wing, only to have the mech cringe away as if he burned. "Scourge, talk to me. What happened?"

"Can't see," Scourge growled as he curled in tighter upon himself. "Can't see can't vent can't see can't vent can't vent can't vent can't vent can't vent--"

"Hey, easy, easy," the Monsterbot rumbled gently as he kneeled carefully admits the solvent and broken transparitsteel. "Mustache, it's just me, okay? I'm not gonna hurt you. Just-- Just let me help you up, okay?"

The mech did not respond, but he made no move to pull away form Grotusque either as he was gathered in the white mech's arms. Pulling his tremoring frame against his chest plating and draping his own wings over Scourge, he carefully stood up. Another klik and they were sitting on Scourge's recharge slab. Grotusque gently ran his servo up and down between the other's shoulders.

"All right, cycle your vents for me," he rumbled, tucking Scourge's helm beneath his chin. "In-vent, ex-vent, in-vent, ex-vent, there we go. Easy, easy. Don't know what spark-eater's hauntin' your recharge cycle, but it's not real, all right? It's not real. You're safe, you're safe." A quiet moment or two. "Need me to call Tailgate? Or Whirl or Cyclonus?"

The slightly shaking of the other's helm against his chest was the only answer he got.

It was a long while before Scourge spoke again, and he spoke so quietly that the Monsterbot almost missed it altogether.

"Who I am, Grotusque?" The question came harsh yet quiet, like the scrape of a bullet wasp's wing against the breeze. "Am I still here? Am I still me?"

He pulled back slightly to stare the other in the optic, cyan meeting orange. The lost and haunted look in the old mech's gaze has his tanks turning a little. A smile was plastered at the corner of Grotusque's mouth as he tilted his helm.

"You're Scourge, of course," he chuckled quietly, still holding his sparring partner close. "You know some other poor son-of-a-glitch who can kick my aft one klik and paint with me the next? Yeah, it's still you."

A shuddering ex-vent before a watery smile was returned. Scourge's helm tilted forward again until his temple hit the Mosnterbot's chest plating with a small _clunk_.

"Anythin' I can get you? Some energon? Your gang? Take you to the medbay so we can patch you up?"

"No... No, just stay with me for a while longer, please."

"Not goin' anywhere, Mustache." He curled around the mech once more. "I promise."

* * *

 

Officially, they had stopped off at the desert planet for a few cycles to mine some of the rarer metal ores their scanners had detected. The medbay was running low on alloys for spare parts, and with a crew like the Lost Light there was no end to demand.

_Unofficially_ , the flight frames on board were beginning to get a little rowdy. Ratchet's diagnosis was that they needed open air and good breezes on the double. And so here they were: an odd two dozen jets and helicopters zipping through the orange skies and purple clouds like a batch of freshly forged newsparks.

"Sure you don't want to be up there with them?" Tailgate asked as his legs kicked lightly over the rock he was seated on. "You know it won't hurt my feelings a bit if you do."

"Hm, perhaps in a while," his conjunx rumbled, squeezing the minibot's servo in reassurance.

Above them, Whirl was living up to his old title of Nutjob. He zipped dangerously close to his fellows, narrowly dodged several midair collisions, and just wreaked general aerial mayhem. Scourge meanwhile cruised laps around the periphery of the group, no doubt to step in and save his trinemate if and when he made a crash landing.

"Don't quote me on this, but you and Scourge could both stand to follow Whirl's example a little more sometimes."

"You mean tear through the sky with Wrecker-esque abandon and no regard to the safety of other mechs, not to mention our own?"

"No, I mean you could both stand to cut loose once in a while! Believe it or not, there's no such thing as actually being allergic to fun."

"Forgive me if I continue to be a skeptic," he laughed softly. He glanced up suddenly. "Ah, looks as if Grotusque has finally decided to join in."

The winged chimera's roar echoed across the sky as he made a beeline for Scourge. He flew in close enough to clip his claws against the hull of their trinemate's altmode before zooming away. Grotusque repeated the same taunt, over and over, until the jet finally took the bait and gave chase. Before long the pair were taking cues from Whirl and using their crewmates as an impromptu obstacle course while they zipped through the air.

"Ooooh I didn't know we were doing couple's racing!" The minibot suddenly stood and tugged on his conjunx's arm. "C'mon, let's join them!"

"I doubt that is a real sport. And are you forgetting your altmode lacks flight capabilities?" Cyclonus pointed out even as he got to his pedes.

"Then just throw me in the cockpit and let's go anyway! Please, I really wan-- Whoop!" In a nanoklik the minibot was being tossed in the air and the jet was transforming around him, and up they went to join the others.

* * *

 

"Well, are they to your liking?"

"Frag _yeah_ they are! Who else could rock a sweet paintjob like this but me? Well, me and the Necrobot."

The Monsterbot flared his wings in front of the mirror. He turned this way and that to peer at his reflection. While Scourge did not say aloud for fear of inciting another sparring session in his habsuite, he looked rather like a preening vanadium vulture.

Grotusque's pale plating had provided the perfect canvas for a nebula Scourge had once seen in his youth. Swirls of soft pink and blue to compliment the Monsterbot's natural coloring. Bright stars were flecked like so many gemstones against the clouds and the inky black. In Scourge's personal opinion, it was greatest work thus far. And, to his secret delight, the other mech seemed to thoroughly agree with him.

"Okay, your turn." He tapped the edge of one of Scourge's wings. "C'mon, spread 'em nice and wide for me."

"I beg your pardon?" the older mech rumbled, surprise coloring his field before he could hide it.

"Your wings, Mustache!" He was already grabbing the paints and a clean brush. "What? Thought I was gonna let you doll me up without returnin' the favor? I'm not a Bob Ross -- yet -- but between those old Earth vids and you, I wouldn't make it a complete disaster. Just half a disaster at most."

"I..."

"Unless you don't want to," the Monsterbot he laughed as he cast his gaze down, beginning to put the brush away. "Which I can understand and respect! It was just a thought."

"No!" Scourge grabbed hold of his wrist. He took cast his gaze to side after a tense moment, energon rushing to faceplates. "No, you misunderstand me. That is, I would be quite honored." He extended one wing out to the other. "I _want_ you to, but only if that is your desire as well. I do not wish to make you feel obligated."

Grotusque's optics reset with a flick before he grinned from audial to audial.

"What in the Pit are we waitin' for then? Let's get started! Now, what do you like better: hotrod flames, lightning, or organic skulls?"

* * *

 

"You have nothing to fear, old friend. Anyone with half a processer can see he has optics only for you and that the feeling is mutual."

"Yeah, just tell him how you feel!"

"You're sure you can't wait just a bit longer for him to pop the question himself? I've got 500 credits to lose in the betting pool if you-- Ow, easy on the punchies, Tee, I'm kidding! Go get 'im, Scourgey."

"You have the blessing of your trine," Cyclonus continued, squeezing the mech's shoulder, "if that is only thing holding you back. I can speak from personal experience that and tell you that some things _should_ be said, not merely felt."

"Right." Scourge ex-vented shakily as he drew himself up. "Right. Here I go."

The distance across the training room floor had never before seemed so far. His plating clamped tight to his protoform to keep from clattering with his nerves. He field was wound tight around his frame as well, and he looked well as if he was striding off to his own execution. (A part of him would have preferred one now.)

"Grotusque?" he called, waving the mech down and determinedly keeping his vocoder from fritzing. "If I might have a word with you for a moment?"

"Sure," the Monsterbot rumbled, arms crossing over his chest. "What's got you all wound up, Mustache?"

"Nothing at all!" Scourge bit out before he huffed. His framed heated considerably in the short moments it took him to finally summon his courage. "Grotusque, would you... would you care to join me for a drink at Swerve's tonight?"

A very, very long pause followed, the whole room waiting with bated breathe. Scourge cursed himself. What had he been thinking? Of course the mech would never see him in that light, he was only making a fool of himself and breaking his own spark--

It took him a moment to realize that Grotusque had taken his servo and linked their digits together.

"Yeah, I'd like that," he rumbled, that eternal smile beaming on his faceplate. "I'd like that a lot, Mustache."

Warmth bloomed in Scourge's spark, and he missed the crowd of mechs cheering behind him entirely as he smiled back.

* * *

 

(And, needless to say, Rodimus became a very rich mech that evening.)


End file.
